


Look Again

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Series: Walking In Truth [5]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Emotional Constipation, F/M, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:23:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When two people have been wounded by a series of bad decisions, how do they start over again and begin to heal?</p><p> </p><p>For the prompt <a href="http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/17669.html?thread=38070789#t38070789">Ariadne POV story where she's trying to choose between Arthur and Eames.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Look Again

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.   
— Kahlil Gibran

 

"I have not seen you in a long time," Yusuf said as he met Eleanor at his favorite sidewalk café in Mombasa. He was in his usual subdued colors and flowing tunics. It kept the heat off his skin as best as could be expected in the Mombasa sun. He looked at Eleanor, her hair a little wild and loose. She had stopped wearing the bright colors he had associated with her Ariadne persona, and generally wore white or blue or black. It was a much more somber appearance, and she looked even more tired than usual. Her eyes had a perpetually sad cast to them, and it was startling for Yusuf to see.

"Has it been long?" she asked, frowning slightly. "It doesn't seem like it."

"We last met for lunch when you received word of your job in Amsterdam," Yusuf reminded her. "Then Eames was in the Ukraine, and you were in Athens. It's been months."

"Oh." Eleanor's tone was somewhat listless as she thought about the passage of time. Months, yet it felt as if everything had happened in an instant. Or years and years ago, it was hard to tell. Wrung out was possibly the best description for it, since she was so tired, and she was at a loss for what to do next.

Yusuf steered her toward the table that the maitre d' indicated. Eleanor didn't seem to really take in her surroundings, which wasn't like her either. "My dear, did someone die? You appear to be in mourning."

Her eyes snapped to his face immediately. "What?"

"Over the past several months, you have not come to visit and talk. But I have seen you, and there is something missing." Yusuf looked at her evenly, folding his hands over his stomach in a contented gesture, even though he felt as though there was something gravely wrong with her. "You are my friend, aren't you?"

"I... I'd like to think so," she replied, startled.

"Since giving up the name Ariadne, we have not talked." Eleanor blinked and looked ashamed, which wasn't what he had been going for at all. "I still think of you as Ariadne," he continued in his usual quiet tone. "I miss her."

Eleanor was startled by the statement. "Yusuf, she wasn't even real. You can't miss someone that doesn't exist. Besides, I'm right here."

"Of course she was real." Yusuf's tone was bland and matter of fact. "You lived as Ariadne for months, and you _made_ her real. Then several months ago you abruptly kill her." He signaled for a waiter when none seemed forthcoming. "I miss my friend Ariadne. We had many conversations together, both appreciated fine coffee and seemed the most level headed of our merry band of thieves." He gave her a warm smile as the waiter he signaled arrived. "Let us order lunch, talk of other things."

Eleanor looked away. "Yeah. Good idea. This is a topic that hurts too much."

"But even pain serves a purpose. How can you even begin to fix something unless you know there's something wrong?"

She didn't have an answer to that, and ordered something to eat. Yusuf could tell that it was an automatic kind of action. Generally she enjoyed the textures and flavors of food, even if she didn't know the names for what she was experiencing. She moved mechanically now, as if there was a distinct loss of spirit.

Yes, as far as Yusuf was concerned, Eleanor was grieving. He would have liked to think it was over Ariadne, but couldn't be certain. There was too much he didn't know about her, too much that he had simply guessed at. While he liked to think he was a good judge of character, he wasn't nearly as good or accurate at reading people as Eames. Even Yang was better at that sort of thing than he was. Yusuf could keep himself and his dreaming den safe, so his skills were at least fitting his need.

She didn't seem discomfited by his steady gaze as she ate, and didn't really volunteer any information about how she had been in the intervening months. Eleanor asked about the den and his dreamers, though there was a detachment there. She was going through the motions, asking because she was still a friend, not because she had any burning desire to know how the dreamers were doing. Yusuf didn't think she was one of those that believed his dreamers were burnt out husks, but she generally was a bit livelier in conversation than this. Before, she had asked about the shared construction of the dream and if he knew what it looked like.

"Ever been to a funeral?" Yusuf asked abruptly. He had been talking about one of his regulars and telling her the same story for the third time, but she didn't seem to be listening.

Eleanor was startled. "What? Of course." She frowned. "Why? Your client is still alive."

Yusuf shook his head slightly and finished off his lunch. "Sometimes I'm not so sure."

She missed his point. He wasn't talking about his dreamer at all.

***

Eames was scrubbing out the kitchen with extreme prejudice when Eleanor returned to the apartment. It was hard for her to feel like it was theirs, as much as he had introduced the concept when she had first moved in. She had always felt like an interloper, and had always taken care to clean up after herself. Good houseguests didn't cause problems for their hosts.

His eyes flicked up toward her and he frowned slightly. "Are you all right?"

"I didn't fuck him, if that's what you think."

His frown turned into a glower. "Eleanor. That's not what I was thinking, and you know it."

"Why does everybody think there's something wrong with me?" she snapped, coming into the kitchen. Her jaw was set and she practically was itching for a fight. _Throw me out. Get it over with. You can't possibly want me after what I did to you._

"Because something is," he replied, shaking his head. "Something's been wrong for a while now, and I thought it was just leaving the CIA and your family behind. Just because there wasn't much of an attachment there doesn't mean it was easy."

"That was months ago!" she protested. "That has nothing to do with now."

Eames tossed the brush aside and moved to wash his hands. "Of course it does. You never talk about it. Ignoring a problem only makes it bigger. You know that." He glanced up from the sink. "And you're angry with me for that stunt I pulled last week."

Eleanor flushed and looked away but didn't deny it. He had sounded odd on the phone while she was on the job in Athens. Returning home, she had walked in on him fucking some other girl she had never seen before. He'd goaded her into joining in, but it had been a complete disaster. She had broken down and cried in front of him afterwards, all but admitted there was something wrong with her, and said she loved him. It didn't matter that he said it first and he actually meant it. For months now she'd been sure he was lying about that. It had made it easier to fall into bed with Arthur, to let herself be charmed by how his smile was easy and dimpled around her, to get caught up in feeling without thinking.

Everything was a mess, and every day she kept wanting to _run._ That would make it easier to forget any of this had ever happened. She could pretend nothing was wrong and she was fine and didn't need anyone. It had worked for years before Project Morpheus.

There was a trick to it, if only she could remember it.

There were so many things she used to do well, and it seemed as though she'd forgotten them all, lost the knack for being an independent woman. It seemed as though all she'd wanted to do for months was yell or scream or cry, denying there was anything wrong. On some level she knew something was wrong. She just couldn't put her finger on it. Eleanor could feel the sense of wrongness beneath her skin, the same kind of feeling like she had gotten during her time on the Fischer job as Ariadne. Something was off, Cobb hadn't been acting quite right, and Arthur was far too solicitous.

Arthur. God, if only she could figure out what she was going to do with this mess.

She didn't feel on edge around him. She didn't feel that their relationship was some kind of game that she had to win at all costs, and she felt secure around Arthur. He had taken her to his childhood home and offered it up to her as a retreat if she needed one. He made her feel loved and important and free, as if she could very well be master of all she surveyed even if she didn't want it. He was exciting in his personal life and matter of fact on the job, and he made her feel as though she belonged. Eleanor liked him, and he made her laugh. There was something missing, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

Eames told her all the time that she belonged in his world, that he would do anything in the world for her. Maybe he did, but she still felt on edge around him, as if there was a verbal sparring match constantly going on. He made her feel fragile and delicate sometimes, as if everything she felt about him would break her to pieces. Yet at other times, she felt like they worked perfectly in sync, as if she could let go of all her fears and simply _live._ There was an intensity about him that made her hope it wasn't all a game, but she was afraid to hope. She had been on top of her game professionally, but her personal life had always been a mess. Why should this be any different? It would be easier for her if she didn't care, but she did. It mattered to her what happened, though it was equally terrifying to be with him or without him.

"Are you going to talk to me about that?" Eames asked, breaking into her reverie. He was an arm's length away; she hadn't even noticed him moving. His eyes were full of pain, though his expression was blank.

They were both so careful around each other now, not wanting to break the fragile truce between them. Sure, they loved each other to distraction. But Eames himself had said it the week before – love wasn't always enough. Deep down Eleanor wanted it to be, but she didn't know how to do that. How could she simply forget all the myriad ways they had hurt each other? She had wounded him deeply, and she felt just as hurt. How could they simply start again?

"What do you want me to say?" Eleanor asked with a frustrated sigh. "We're starting over, right? So I should just forget that any of it happened."

If she could forget everything, if she could really start over, then maybe she could recall what it was that had made her Eleanor, rather than a collection of false names. Maybe then she wouldn't feel so lost and stupid every time she opened her mouth. Maybe then she could start to really move on and accept the life she had chosen.

Eames touched her arm. "I want you to be happy." It was the same soft tone he had taken with her on the job in Amsterdam, when he'd told her that he would protect her regardless of what name she took. He loved her, all of her, all the hidden and fractured bits she couldn't name. She wanted to believe it, but couldn't.

"What makes you think I'm not?"

He gave her a look that clearly said she was being difficult for no good reason. "You were happier when we were in Amsterdam. Or even before that, before you had to wonder about turning us all in to the CIA." His fingers brushed against her cheeks, and she resisted the urge to twist and fall into his embrace. She longed to feel his arms around her, to be swallowed up in his warmth. It would make her feel protected, but she didn't deserve that.

"I'm fine. I keep telling you that."

"But it's still not true," he replied gently.

Eleanor spun around and started to exit the kitchen. "I'm fine. I'm okay. Nothing is wrong."

Maybe if she repeated it often enough, she would actually start to believe it herself.

She found herself in the bedroom, sitting on the bed and staring vaguely in the direction of the window, though she didn't really see anything out of it. She was still in the dress she had been wearing to lunch, one sandal still on her foot, the other in her hands. She wasn't thinking of anything in particular, and didn't even startle when Eames stepped into the room.

"Eleanor?"

She didn't move in response to the name, even when Eames sat down next to her on the bed and removed the sandal from her slack hands. "Eleanor," he repeated in a firmer tone of voice.

"I'm not her anymore," she replied tonelessly. "I can't be her, I can't be Ariadne, I can't be any of those other names you gave me."

Eames frowned as he leaned down to take off her other sandal. "What's going on, then?" he murmured, looking into her distant expression. He watched her shrug and slid an arm around her shoulders. "Eleanor," he said softly, lips against her temple. "You haven't been yourself for some time, darling."

"Who's that?" she asked, turning to look at him. There was still that vacant expression in her eyes, and she felt hollow. "Who am I supposed to be, Eames? I can't be Eleanor anymore, and none of the other names are real."

"Who do you want to be?" he asked her, brows furrowed.

"I don't know." She looked away from him in frustration, back in the general direction of the window. "I should pick someone, shouldn't I? But none of them are real."

"You've been Lily the longest out of all..."

"I don't like her very much," she replied. "There are bits that work, but..."

Eames wrapped his arms around her and simply held her. After a moment, something occurred to him and he gave her a thoughtful look. "You've never picked any of your names, have you? I'll bet even Ariadne was chosen for you."

"I picked details," she told him, shrugging as if it didn't matter. "Background things, whatever was easy for me to remember."

He frowned at her flat voice. "She was the most real to you, wasn't she?"

"Eliza was nice, too," Eleanor said with another shrug. She didn't look in his direction, didn't want to see his expression when he heard that. Other than second guessing what she meant to Eames during that job, it had been fairly pleasant. "She didn't hurt much."

Eames moved to cup her face in his hands. "Then it's time you chose your own name. Rather than the rest of us telling you who you are or who you ought to be, you tell us. You pick a name that feels right, something that you feel comfortable in. I chose Eames, after all. I've grown into it. You need to do the same."

"You make it sound easy."

"It's nowhere near as easy as it sounds, darling," Eames murmured, leaning in to kiss her mouth gently. "But I promised I'd be here with you, whatever name you used."

"You promised Eliza that."

"No, darling. I promised _you._ I always meant it."

Eleanor tucked her face into the crook of his neck and simply breathed in the scent of him, afraid to look into his expression. She let him rock her slightly, stroking the back of her head. It was a comfortable gesture, one she needed and hated all at the same time.

She had been coasting over the past few months, reacting and letting things happen. Eames was right. It was time she started taking control again.

***

Eames, Yusuf, Yang and Asim had a regular poker night if they were all in Mombasa and not working a job or in hiding. Eleanor had been invited on a few occasions, though she generally didn't play with them. She had felt too odd and out of sorts, then Eames had gone to the Ukraine and she didn't want to go without him. Since those three men had broken into the apartment and she'd begun sleeping with Arthur, Eleanor hadn't even thought about the poker game. She had been too busy spending time with Arthur, kissing and touching and fucking him. For a while she was able to pretend that things were going well, especially when Arthur had found the job in Athens to work on. Diving headfirst into a build cleared her head and seemed to resettle her equilibrium for a bit.

Coming back to Mombasa and getting the unwelcome sight of Eames fucking someone else had ripped out all those moorings she thought were back in place. It was odd how everything could shift in the space of a few moments, and everything had come undone. The last time she had felt this way was when she had undergone training; as cool as she'd seemed on the surface, she had second guessed everything she had to do. She felt like a teenager away from home for the first time, unable to figure out where everything had gone wrong.

She hated that feeling, hated how all of her expertise could be stripped away in an instant. Eames wasn't supposed to be that important to her. She wasn't supposed to care about him as much as she did, or be as affected by his actions as she was. There was distance with Arthur; maybe that was why she felt safe. He could touch her body but he didn't dig too much deeper than that. It was how she knew she didn't love him. Eames could see into her without even trying, it seemed, and she'd let him without realizing it.

That was the worst part of it, given how much she hated feeling helpless and alone. Eames and his friends all seemed to look at her in pity now that she could do nothing right. Eleanor was a demoralized wreck, and she didn't know how to stop this spiral. It was more than just picking a name for herself. It couldn't be that simple.

Eleanor wandered around Old Town, unable to stay in the apartment alone anymore. The place carried too many memories of both Eames and Arthur now, each one overlaid thickly with her own guilt. The wish to escape was overpowering, though she refused to give into it. She chose this life willingly, and as much as it hurt it still felt more real than her life had been back in the United States. Yusuf had been right; she was more alive here, even if over the past week or so she'd felt like she was on autopilot.

She floated through the market, looking at the various people all around her. Languages burbled and leapt around her; she picked out just a few words here and there. Even so, the babble was comforting, after a fashion. She could be anyone and anything, and there was no pressure to live up to any unfounded expectations. If she fell apart, no one knew her and would care. She could never do that, of course. It was unseemly and unacceptable, something that had been drilled into her since childhood. She had to stay in control at all times, or at least give the appearance of it.

Purchasing a few items gave her something to do in the market. There was some cloth to make into a blouse or a dress, fruit for dessert and fresh cut flowers. Eames generally handled dinner, and he'd been trying to go the extra mile over the past week. He was sorry for how he had handled finding out about her and Arthur; Eleanor wasn't even sure if she could call it cheating if they'd never said they were exclusive.

It was getting pulled into an alley by two young men with knives that startled her out of her fog. They spoke heavily accented English and demanded her money, and for some reason this made Eleanor furious. She dropped her purchases and fought them as if she was possessed. There was no contest; the two young men had bravado and a knife each, and Eleanor had training and experience in hand-to-hand combat and smal weapons. The two fled before she could do much damage, only cutting their jackets after taking their knives.

She needed a challenge. She needed something more than moving through her life like a ghost, waiting for something to happen.

Her feet took her to Yusuf's shop without her conscious thought. Poker night was in one of the upstairs rooms, and she found herself ignoring the skinny man watching the door to head straight upstairs to the game room. They were laughing and making fun of each other in a combination of English, Swahili and French. Eleanor found herself smiling in spite of herself, approaching the sounds of the men's laughter.

The bags in her hand bumping into the doorway alerted the men to her presence before she even raised her hand to knock on the frame. Their expressions didn't indicate that they were saying anything horrible about her in Swahili; if anything, Eames looked absolutely delighted to see her standing there. Yusuf offered her a smile and Yang wordlessly scooted over so that Asim could bring another chair and place it next to Eames.

And just like that, they made room for her at the table and dealt her into the next hand.

"You have a bruise," Yang commented as he put two cards down for Yusuf to deal him two more. He nodded at her left forearm when she looked at him in confusion.

"What happened?" Eames asked, brows pulling into a frown.

"I was mugged," Eleanor replied with an absent shrug. "I kind of took exception to that."

Asim snorted; he was generally a silent sort of man, believing that words were tools that could wound just as much as weapons could. When she had first met him, Asim had clasped her right hand firmly between his own darker ones and had told her solemnly that she had a long way to go in darkness before she found her light. He hadn't explained the comment, and Yusuf had only shrugged. "There's magic in his blood, you must understand. Sometimes he speaks of things we only understand afterward."

Eleanor was starting to wonder if perhaps there was more truth to that than she had given credence to at the time.

Eames let his left hand drop lightly down on her right wrist, fingers brushing across the sensitive skin there. It was a quietly supportive gesture, and he simply looked at her with a slanted smile on his lips. "Not a mistake they'll make again, I'll bet."

"No, I don't think they will," she replied. She shifted her right hand so that his fingers graced her palm, then curled her own on top of his. It was subtle acceptance of his touch and support, one that made his smile broaden just a bit.

Yusuf's man from the door arrived with a vase of clear water. He put it down on the side table and Asim handed over the bag with the cut flowers. Eleanor blinked as they were arranged artfully in the vase and placed on the side table.

Yang peered into the other bag, spying the fruit. "You brought snacks!" he noted, looking up with a smile in his eyes. "These idiots don't think about things like food until we're all starving and starting to digest ourselves."

Eleanor offered him a social smile and squeezed Eames' fingers slightly. "Someone has to take care of the lot of you, right?"

Asim grunted, folding his cards and putting them face down on the table. "We needed a fifth to make a proper circle. Now with Spirit, all of the elements are in place."

The four others simply stared at him, but Asim didn't elaborate. Yusuf sighed and continued the poker game, shaking his head. "This is why you don't have as much business as I do," he told his friend. "Too many cryptic comments like that make customers think you imbibe your own chemicals."

He shrugged and leaned back in his chair much as Yusuf generally did. He didn't fold his hands over his stomach, but kept them palm down on the table. His dark eyes twinkled as he smiled, revealing startlingly bright teeth against the darkly sunburned skin. "I have what I need, and I am content with that. We all find our way eventually."

"I am far too sober for that," Yang commented, reaching for his beer. "Want one?" He leveled his sharp gaze on Eleanor, and she knew immediately that he had seen her around Mombasa with Arthur and had told Eames. He was still willing to forgive her for that if Eames was, and Eleanor couldn't fault him for telling. He had been Eames' friend first.

"Might as well," she commented. She flashed him a brighter smile than she really was in the mood for. "That way you can't say it's because you were drunk when I win."

"We're seasoned gamblers," Yang told her with a grin, taking a swig of his beer. He turned and went into the mini fridge to get her a drink. "We'll see who wins."

Eleanor won that round with three of a kind.

***

There was a folder with documents in varying stages of completion on Eames' desk. He hadn't made much effort to hide it when Eleanor returned from a walk around Old Town. He tugged her into his lap wordlessly and kissed her soundly. Eleanor responded, threading her fingers through his hair and sliding her tongue into his mouth. They simply kissed for a long time, his hands on her back and hip in a comforting gesture. He didn't push for more and she was content to stick with the kissing for now.

"They're almost done," he commented when her gaze slid over to the folder in a question she didn't need to voice. "Just waiting on a name, whenever you're ready."

"Do you really think that will help?" she asked, eyebrow arched.

"It couldn't hurt," he said, running his fingers down her arm. "It isn't every day that you get a chance to resurrect yourself as someone new. She should be someone you're proud of being."

"You think I could have that," she murmured, half in wonder and half in despair. She still wasn't entirely sure she could fix things. It wasn't as if she was making much of an effort.

His large hands were spread across her back, though she felt it was more of a comforting gesture than a threatening one. If she ever fell from his lap, he would hold her in place. He'd catch her as she fell, bring her back to her feet.

"You can be whoever you want to be. I'm certain of that." He leaned in and kissed her lips lightly. "You don't give yourself enough credit."

Eleanor ducked her head down to touch her forehead to his, closing her eyes. His touch was a comforting presence, nothing too insistent. "I'm working on it."

"Anything I can do?" he asked, tilting his head to nip the tip of her nose with his lips.

She opened her eyes and smiled. "You already are."

Eames didn't think it was an odd comment to make, and merely kissed her again before putting the folder aside. It was enough that she knew it existed.

***

Eleanor was going through various books in the apartment or poking around on the internet trying to come up with a good name. She'd never really considered renaming herself before, and while there were plenty of names on various sites that sounded pretty, not all of them felt like _her_ or who she wanted to be. Plus, trying to go through baby name sites gave her an odd ache in her gut, even though she had never considered having children before. She had always been so driven to succeed in her career, having children seemed like a setback to that plan. Now that she was a criminal, it would be far too dangerous to be pregnant or have an infant. Architects didn't necessarily go out into the field, but it wasn't her own reputation that she had to be concerned with. She still carried the bullet wound scar on her left arm from a trio of thugs looking for Eames.

It was also a reminder of what could happen if she continued to drift and simply react to things around her without thinking of the consequences. She had gotten lucky during the Fischer job, pushing herself into that situation. It could have just as easily resulted in her staying in limbo for good, trapped amongst the wreckage of Cobb's former lifetimes and lies.

Abruptly, she got up from Eames' computer and snatched up blank paper from his printer. She had the itch to do something, to create something that could last a while, that would likely even outlast her. Though if she was changing her name, it wouldn't even have to last that long.

She was filling pages and pages of sheets with mazes, paradoxical structures and even some standard real world buildings by the time Eames returned to the apartment with Yang. The Singaporean eyed the drawings with interest, then picked one up. It was an intricate maze of buildings that even she got lost in when she tried to trace the route to the center. "This is exquisite," he murmured, looking at Eleanor's bent head. "Are you doing this for a job?"

Eleanor shook her head. "I just needed to do something to keep busy. Ever get the feeling like you need to do something and there's just too much time on your hands to do it in?" She waited for Yang's nod. "That's how it was this afternoon." She gestured over the pages of sheets with elaborate drawings. "This helped."

"I see what the chatter was about, then." Yang returned the drawing. "Such talent is a rare find, no matter where it originated from."

"Was that a compliment?" Eleanor asked, partially teasing and partially surprised that he would say such a thing. She had been certain that she wasn't his favorite person in Mombasa anymore after the way she had treated Eames.

Yang laughed as Eames gathered up the sheets of paper and collected them into a neat pile. "I call it as I see it, you know. Even professional liars can tell the truth on occasion."

It wasn't a backhanded insult, she realized suddenly. He had slipped back into his prior self-deprecating mode with her. Her indiscretions were forgotten, or at least considered to be a personal matter between her and Eames. He wouldn't interfere unless he was asked, and would respect whatever the outcome was.

She likely didn't deserve that, but would take it anyway.

Yang had come over because he was hiding from his ex-girlfriend, who was involved in some sort of drug trafficking ring. She wanted him to help her launder money and move some of her inventory. A recovering addict, Yang wanted nothing to do with the operation. "But I'm a sucker for a pretty face," he admitted with a sigh. "She knows just how to wind me up and watch me go. Best to avoid her for a while and then she'll eventually go away when she can't find me at the casino."

"You can't keep hiding forever," Eleanor replied automatically. "At some point you're going to have to man up and just tell her to leave you alone."

Eames was beside himself with laughter as Yang sputtered ineffectual protests. "That's my darling, cutting to the quick. Mate, you know she has the right of it."

Shooting her a scowl, Yang drank his beer rather than reply. Eleanor rolled her eyes at him, a protective urge coming over her. "Fine, then. Do you want me to take care of it, get her off your back for good?"

"Could you?"

Eleanor rolled her eyes. "What a baby."

Eames slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close as he laughed. "I did tell him that he knew what needed to be done. He just can't bring himself to."

"Sometimes you know what you have to do, but put it off because you don't know what will come after. If she's off your back, Yang, who will you avoid at the casino?" Eleanor pointed out, burrowing into Eames' side.

"Oh, I'm sure there's someone," Eames replied with a grin. "Yang has no shortage of dodgy contacts and exes he never should have hooked up with."

"Humph. Some friends you two are," Yang groused, reaching for more snacks.

Eleanor blinked in surprise, but supposed that the term fit. She knew she could go to Yang for help if she needed it, especially if he was accepting Eames' forgiveness of her antics. She also wouldn't have offered to potentially brutalize a stranger if he didn't mean something to her. It was amazing the difference a handful of months made.

It also made her aware of something else. "It's my birthday soon." She paused. "I'd forgotten."

"It's been eventful," Eames told her diplomatically, fingers brushing across her arm. "I wasn't sure if you wanted to celebrate it, but I remembered."

She pulled back to look at him in confusion. "But I never told you."

"As if that would stop me," Eames replied with a smirk. Yang simply laughed. "Well, did you want to celebrate it?"

Her previous few birthdays had been quiet affairs, spending the day at the office in DC then coming back to her solitary apartment. Her parents would call, and she would have some cards in the mail from college friends she kept up some contact with. Overall, it had been a very lonely kind of existence.

Eames had been right all along, she suddenly realized. It wouldn't have been so easy to leave if there was something worth staying for. 

"Yeah," she said with a smile, curling back into his side comfortably. His arm enveloped her immediately, and she burrowed deeper into his side. "I'd like that. I haven't done anything for my birthday in years."

"Oh, we definitely have to change that," Yang declared expansively. "Party at my house."

"You don't have a house," Eleanor pointed out.

"Get rid of my ex and I'll work something out," Yang replied with a wink. "It'll be one of the biggest events the dream share community in Mombasa's ever seen."

"It'll be the _only_ event the community's ever seen," Eames pointed out. "Such as it is, only the lot of us has ever really gotten together regularly."

Rolling her eyes, Eleanor laughed. It was ridiculous and silly and extravagant, but it was still a touching gesture. She belonged to them as much as they belonged to her.

She hadn't realized it before. This really was home.

***

Eleanor thought of smashing Yang's girl's face in with her bare hands and giving the name Ariadne as the nom de guerre. It would eventually come up as a hit on the CIA or Interpol watch lists, however, so that was definitely out. Yang's ex looked preternaturally young, and she played up the doll-like features well. It appealed to Yang's inner sense of chivalry, which is why he was always so lost whenever it came down to her requests.

Having similar appearance and physical structure but superior training, Eleanor had no qualms whatsoever about walking up to the girl in the middle of a meeting near the casino and punching her in the jaw. Extracting the wicked looking knife from her spine holster without shearing off her ponytail stopped the girl's associates from reaching for their guns. Well, perhaps it was said knife pressed up against the girl's throat and the way that Eleanor's lips were pulled back into a snarl of rage. "I'm Elizabeth. I don't like how you're treating my friend Yang." She had the girl's arm twisted behind her, which ensured that she wasn't about to struggle and possibly slit her own throat on Eleanor's knife.

"What do you want?" she asked, trying and failing to sound brave.

"You walk away from Mombasa and never come back," Eleanor hissed. She exerted a tick more pressure with the knife, enough for the girl to feel the keen edge of the blade. "If I even hear a whisper about you, there will be pieces of you so small that even dental records can't identify you." The girl's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in utter terror. "Do I make myself clear?" Eleanor snarled.

There was a small squeak from the girl, and Eleanor pressed the edge fractionally harder into her throat. It was enough to eventually leave a thin red line behind on the porcelain skin, but not enough to bleed. Eleanor had always been good with edged weapons.

"Do I make myself clear?" she repeated, lips pulled back to bare her teeth.

"Y-yes," the girl whimpered.

Eleanor rolled to her feet gracefully, hunting knife still in her outstretched hand. She gave the girl and her associates a mocking nod of the head. "You have until sundown to clear out."

It was just after lunch. By all reports, the girl was gone by three o'clock.

***

Eames was sprawled on the bed, hands tucked behind his neck. "Elizabeth. I like it."

"It's more important that _I_ like it, don't you think?" Eleanor asked tartly, coming to sit beside him on the bed. She let one hand fall to his bare stomach, her touch light but sure. They'd had sex since the debacle on her return from Athens, but it had felt more like a tension release than genuine affection. The slow touches and kisses over the past week had meant more to her, and reminded her of how things had started in Amsterdam.

He merely grinned at her and moved one hand to touch her knee. "Those other blokes there nearly wet their pants, I'll have you know. Tiny girl with a blade almost as tall as she is..."

Eleanor smacked his stomach for the short joke and smirked at his yelp. "Nearly wet themselves? Obviously I didn't do it right."

"Darling, you more than did it right."

"I guess when I pay attention, I do," she murmured, rubbing his abdomen gently. She looked up at him through her eyelashes, though it was less playing the coquette than suddenly feeling overwhelmed by her past failure.

Eames slid his hand up from her knee along her thigh. "You didn't know how much you meant to me, Eleanor," he said gently. "I never said. I thought you knew."

"I should have," she replied softly. "I knew it wasn't fair, but I did it anyway. It sounded good at the time, nothing labeled, nothing named. Everyone aware of what was going on, no one hurt by it if it wasn't serious." She picked up her chin as his hand reached the top of her thigh and his fingertips edged beneath the lace trim of her panties. "I'm sorry, Eames. I'll always be sorry for that. I can't undo it and I probably can't make up for it."

He stroked the skin beneath the edge of her panties slowly, eyes locked to hers. "You left a lot behind, even if it didn't feel like it. I should have made it clearer what you were in for. It wasn't just for a good time, you understand. That was a possibility, yes, but Amsterdam changed all that for me." His other hand pulled her forward so that he could kiss her lips gently. "I know I told you that I always live in the game. But it wasn't a game I played with you. This really did become a home once you came to live with me. And I never would have offered it as a home for you if I wasn't willing to make it real."

Eleanor blinked back tears that threatened to form. "So we're really going to do this? Really going to try and make it work."

"We both want to." He cupped her face in one hand. "It seems like you've accepted that this is home, too. This is where you need to be." He flashed her a winsome smile, trying to look carefree and artless. "I can even tell Arthur you're finished with him."

She covered his hand with one of hers and looked at his open expression. She could break him, could rip out his heart and he would let her. And she could rip out her own and he would simply hold it for her until she was ready to take it back.

"Yes, it is," she agreed. "But you don't have to talk to him. I already called him and broke things off. He's accepted that, and he said he won't be visiting Mombasa for a while. It's over."

The relief was clearly visible, and Eames laughed a little. "You know, I was willing to get all threatening. Like you did with Yang's girl."

Eleanor snorted, returning his smile. "Not necessary. I can fight my own battles."

He cupped her face in his hands and pulled her down for a kiss. "Yes, you certainly can."

Untangling herself from his hands, she straddled his waist and lowered her torso to cover his before leaning down to kiss him again. She held him and gave a contented sigh when his arms wrapped around her possessively manner.

No more regrets, no more looking back.

The End


End file.
